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You are the sun in the solar system,
Somehow pulling everyone into your orbit.
Even passer by asteroids like myself
Get captured and entranced
By the gravitas of your enigma.
Forever stuck in the same trajectory,
Always circling back to you.
How do you do it?
for john. this is based on a joke he made that was weird but funny.
The clock was smiling at us
as if it knew we were lost;
unable to see the path, we continued
along on the wrong side of the ones and zeroes

Tiring of our aimless float;
tiring and lost in the vacuum of our ignorance.
With all kinds of navigational aids to chart our path
we mostly relied upon the compass tattoos over our hearts

Lost in the chasm of our indecision
our bodies and minds listed.
Our attempts to unpack the endless
parcels of our unrest ... proved futile

While  carefully re-learning the ABCs
and re-interpreting the Western Canon
we found that it was only by closing our eyes
that we were able to see; were able to feel.

However, the cadence was off
which was immaterial  as
our feathers were ruffled and
the rhetoric was pluming

With the overture of the new day dawning
we turned our back
on the algorithm of our demise
and shucked off the self-imposed limitation

It was thirty seconds to midnight and
the world that never seemed to want us
needed us now.
Like anemic royalty, we took flight

breathing that rarefied air and
gulping down the nuances of our resilience
to swallow our intergenerational trauma
one last time
Submitted to SAAG writing prize competition on July 1, 2019 (slightly modified version)
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2020
Not lost in sleep
ascended to a dream
a secret none other have seen
if that doesn't tell the dream
who can interpret?

How the world will end?
First tell how did it begin?

What's true forever
is never a sudden discovery
rolls out in trajectory!
Praggya Joshi Jan 2019
He follows the same orbit
In the same motion,
Devoid of any thrilling emotions,
With desperate dedication
Without changing the pace of his muscles
Or the direction of his notion
Day after day
He isn't allowed to run
Or shift, tilt, step
Even a tiniest bit,
away from this linear trajectory
Which he tries to bruise and beat
Using the enduring might
Of his legs
Yet every morning
He opens his eyes
To the searing light
Of a sun
Pushing and shoving him
Towards the place
of his daily grind
And exertion
Kevin Hayes Dec 2018
Like a bird
We have a lot depending on
the right direction.

But Unlike it
We have too many doubts
and questions.

Spread your wings
but don’t span out nervously.

God gave moral compasses
to Guide us personally.

Never be afraid
to go and do your best.

Keeping pulling straws
until you’ve built your nest .
Gabriel burnS Jun 2017
Out of the blue
And into the black
A thought passed through my head
It was you who crossed my heart
And went right out
The exit wound
Sally A Bayan Feb 2017
I wish i were a weapon======
Given a choice
I'd surely be a harmless bow and arrow ===>>>
But a surefire those of Cupid's ===>>>
When released==>>>and aimed==>>> towards your body
My feelings ===>>> my energies ===>>>
Shall ride with its trajectory=====>>>>>
To be implanted in your body
Like a micro chip, buried inside your flesh...
Inconspicuous, as a coin on the ground...lost in  
A mesh...or the bullet of a magical laser gun,
No pain, ===
Targeted towards your heart <3
My smile
Would be resting deep inside,
................occupying space claim your love
Deprive me not of your precious love,
I aim not, to deprive you of your precious life,
I mean to enhance our lives, for our hearts, to jibe<3
              <3 <3 <3


Copyright February 11, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Love poem #6...
...very foolish...teenager-ish..funny....almost silly, or stupid...just like how we behave, when in love...<3
JV Beaupre May 2016
Life is curved
in the shape of a flower,
a curved trajectory
that loops back on itself
repeatedly until the
last petal falls.
Really a Calligram with the words outlining a 4 petaled flower. That helps to explain lines 4 and 5.
Vamika Sinha Sep 2015
the shadow picks
a nice path on your face;

across planes,
                        in wells
I never drank from,
                        on a pink bud
from which I stole

Where words slipped
I thieved, not

shadow hovers
as a bee
for pollen
in darkness.

It loves all
the places
                I missed


I substituted French phrases for
your limbs;
spoke to your
in a language I didn't quite
know yet


the poetry found

in light's absence.

— The End —